


Bridges Over Thames

by comebackjessica



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Shelby Sr. bashing, Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Cats, Dark, Dramatic, Everyone Is Gay, Mysterious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: Polly’s presence seemed to be what finally shook Arthur from the trance. He got up from his spot near the couch and looked at his aunt in a way that no child should look at a grown up.“Where were you?” He barked, in a voice not unlike his father's.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a huge AU project, that I hope all Alfie/Tommy shippers will enjoy! The title was inspired by a poem of unknown origin, probably Wordsworth's but I can't be sure - so if you know it, please do share! Will add tags as we go along to avoid spoilers, though I can of course promise you one thing, that is our beautiful Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby(TM) and Solitary Complete Fucking Sodomite Alfie Solomons(TM) doing the dirty later. Also, this Emperor Penguin-sized author would like to express her humble thanks to the wonderful author of When_Tommy_Met_Alfie for the continuous support, beta-reading and words of encouragement!

_©Mad Books Publishing House, Ltd., 2019_

 

# Prologue

_What’s Under The Floorboards?_

 

Tommy heard Polly’s cart before he saw her. The familiar creaking of the wheels and clanking on the uneven Small Heath’s roads gave it away immediately.

“Arthur, she’s here, she’s here!” Tommy peeped and jumped onto the chair near the windowsill. He squinted his eyes trying to see better and crawled further under the dirty, yellowish lace curtains. They hugged his small head like a wedding veil.

Soon enough, he heard a strong knock on the door, and he jumped back down. The old floorboards squeaked lightly underneath his tiny, six-year-old body.

“Pol!” Tommy nearly knocked her over when he opened the door and threw himself at her in a desperate hug.

“Ooff!” She wrapped her arms around him, trying to steady herself. A familiar scent of incense and something woodsy Tommy couldn’t quite name enveloped him and brought immediate comfort.

“There’s my nephew,” Polly said softly, stroking his wispy, dirty hair.

Polly inspected her glove in the sunlight afterward, before stepping inside. Has her sister-in-law never heard of bathing?

A faded, red cart was pulled into the dark, stuffy corridor.

The cart was filled to the brim with fresh produce, bread, and toiletries. Every time she caught wind of her good-for-nothin’ brother leaving his family for months on end, she would come. Somehow she always sensed when she was needed.

“How are you, bugger? Got into any trouble lately?”

“No time, I was busy helping Arthur.”

“Helping Arthur? With what?”

No one in the family knew exactly what Polly did in order to earn the money she had — or where she got all the fresh vegetables from, for that matter — and she, being Polly, intended to keep her secrets. Once she reached the living room, however, she realized that she wasn’t the only one in the family keeping secrets.

“Jesus, _fuck!_ ” She exclaimed, taking in the scene before her.

The house was a mess — dirty clothes everywhere, cobwebs on the floor and underneath the furniture, dead flies on the windowsills. On the couch, covered with sweat-stained blankets laid her sister-in-law, he skin blueish and forehead sweaty from fever. By her side sat the eldest Shelby son, gently holding his mother’s hand, which for a boy of nine years old was basically all he could do in the situation.

Polly’s presence seemed to be what finally shook Arthur from the trance. He got up from his spot near the couch and looked at his aunt in a way that no child should look at a grown up.

“Where were you?” He barked, in a voice not unlike his father's.

Polly took off her hat and a couple of loose, curly strands escaped the updo. She examined the scene before her once again, trying to find the right words. At the same time, Tommy dug his small hands into the contents of her cart, putting before him in absolute awe fresh vegetables, bread and two bottles of milk.

“Carrots!” He exclaimed in sheer glee, immediately biting into one.

“Wash it first!” Arthur barked at him, before looking back to Polly. “She’s been that way for weeks.  After she had the baby. Last Monday she laid down and hasn’t gotten up since. So where _the fuck_ were you, Aunt Pol? And where is Dad?”

Polly squinted her eyes but said nothing. No words seemed suitable. She took off her gloves and felt her sister’s forehead. She had a fever, of course — she was pale, delirious and whispering words in a language that her boys did not yet fully understand. Then, a sharp cry came from upstairs.

“What was that?” Polly hissed.

Arthur held her gaze defiantly but said nothing.

Polly ran upstairs. She found her way quickly in the dark corridor — this used to be her house, too, after all. In one of the two bedrooms, Polly found the source of the shrieks and had to steady herself against the wall. In a bundle of shirts, sheets and dirty towels laid a newborn. She was naked, covered in her own filth, and crying her heart out in sheer desperation. Next to her, sat baby John, barely a year older than his tiny sister. He wasn’t crying, just sobbing in a desperate kind of way that suggested he didn’t really believe any help was coming.

“Oh, God…” Polly dropped her coat on the floor and took the baby in her arms, carefully, as if she were glass. She comforted her youngest nephew and kissed his cheek softly.

“I will be right back,” she promised, looking him seriously in the eye.

She was never good with baby-talk, so she had a habit of treating her nephews like any other adults. It seemed to do the trick, though, because John stopped sobbing. As quickly as she could, she took the newborn to the kitchen and washed her in the sink.

“She’s been crying all morning. I tried to give her the rest of our bread but she spat it out,” Tommy said quietly, suddenly appearing behind Polly like an apparition. “And John was hiding in the closet. We couldn’t find him all day.”

How Tommy managed to sneak up on her that way, Polly couldn’t tell. The boy has always been like a ghost of a child, she reasoned.

“Take your sister,” she commanded softly, wrapping the baby in a clean tea cloth. “Take her, throw away the dirty blankets from the bed upstairs, and hug your little brother. Hold them close and tell them one of your stories, all right?”

Tommy nodded earnestly, taking her orders very seriously.

When he left with the baby, Polly looked around her and sighed heavily. Now that she was aware of exactly how bad it all was this time, she fully took in the filthy surroundings. Piles of dirty dishes on the table, rotten food in the cupboards, mice droppings everywhere…

“Where the fuck did you go this time, Arthur?” She hissed angrily, clasping her hands on the nearby chair. “You dumb fuck! Fuck!” The chair fell to the floor with a loud clang.

For now, she left it there, opened the kitchen window and walked back to the living room.

Postnatal fever was not something uncommon in Small Heath, where no house had a bathtub and the only doctor in the area was a lazy-ass drunk. Polly prayed that this was the case, just a simple infection, and that Birmingham might still be safe from the pestilence outburst that was now working its way throughout London. Why didn’t her sister call her, like when she was having the boys? She knew Polly could have helped, she knew…

Unless he had told her not to call anyone, Polly realized. Probably didn’t want anyone to see fresh bruises. And his wife listened obediently — pregnant and strategically protective of the life inside her. Polly felt angry at herself, for trusting her idiot brother again and again. She should have left with her sister-in-law and the kids a long time ago, she really should have. That night, when her idiot of a brother pissed himself in the kitchen and broke Tommy’s wrist, both women made a whispered pact to protect the boys, together.

Her brother was unfortunately blessed with the same otherworldly intuition as Polly, and the next morning their whispered plans had quickly turned to nothing. After heated promises and an obscene amount of fake crying, he had persuaded his wife to stay. That’s when Polly’s monthly visits started — just to be sure, to watch over, like a fairy godmother.

“Right, dear sister. Up we go,” she decided firmly and lifted the patient from the couch. Polly used all her strength to lift her sister-in-law, which in her weak, feverish state has proven a rather easy task. Limp and fragile in Polly’s embrace, the woman was no different from the baby she had just given birth to. “Don’t fight me on this, Bran, or I swear to fuck…” Growled Polly, stumbling, as she carried her sister upstairs.

Polly’s legs almost gave way when they reached the hall, but Arthur quickly grabbed his mother from the other side and together they managed to carry her to the master bedroom.

“Right. Bring me a bowl of water and a fresh towel, if you can find one. Oh, and a bar of soap, I brought one with me, in the cart” Polly instructed Arthur briskly.

He nodded and rushed downstairs.

“Shh, you’re okay…” Polly put her sister in the old, rusty bed that creaked lightly under her weak, thin figure.

Once Polly undressed the woman from the sweaty, dirty sleeping gown, she saw familiar rosy spots on her chest and retracted her hand straightaway.

“Oh, Jesus!”

Polly got to her feet and ran downstairs, before Arthur had the chance to return with the toiletries.

“Arthur!”

He emerged from the kitchen, holding the water bowl she had requested.

“Arthur, I need you to listen to me.” She took the bowl from him and looked into his eyes very seriously. “I need you to find some shoes and I need you to run down the street as fast as you can. Run, till you see a brick terrace house with a pink door. That’s Doctor Owens’ door, I need you to fetch him for us.” She took her nephew’s small hand in hers. “Your mother is very sick. She needs a doctor right now. Do you understand?” She looked around and spotted her brother’s dirty, muddy shoes, dumped near the staircase. “Take your father’s shoes.” She noticed his uneasy expression immediately. “No, he won’t mind,” she assured him. “Go! Tell Owens I said it’s bloody urgent!”

As soon as Arthur ran out of the house, she turned towards Tommy.

“Right.”

Few minutes were all it took her to prepare two sandwiches for the boys and a bottle of warm milk for the new baby. She fed the girl, while Tommy and John nearly choked on the food presented to them. Polly didn’t have the heart to chastise them, they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Then, she took the bowl of cold water and the towel Arthur had found, and went upstairs. The only thing Polly could do for her sister was a cold compress, and she hated that fact. If she was right about the spots, though, there would be no miracles, especially not in Small Heath.

When the doctor arrived, she ordered the boys to stay in the living room with their sister, while she took Owens to the master bedroom.

“Branwen, can you hear me?” Owens sat beside her limp body, taking her pulse.

Polly covered her nose and mouth with her hand, watching the doctor like a hawk. He stank of spirits and wet clothing, but today seemed more competent than usual, thank goodness.

“Typhus,” he said finally, after examining the rosy rash, and put his stethoscope back in the weathered leather case he had. “With spots like that, delirium and the fever, there is no doubt.”

Polly looked at her sister, and then back at the doctor.

“What can we do?”

“Nothing. Pray, let her rest. Cook her some soup, perhaps?” Doctor Owens was too realistic for Polly’s taste, but she took his diagnosis bravely. “If her hair starts falling out, though, fetch me again, Polly.” His bloated face all of a sudden became very serious. “We will need to make arrangements then.”

“I’ll remember,” said Polly stiffly, trying to remain calm.

“And where is Mr. Shelby these days, exactly?” The doctor asked, changing the subject.

“What, he owes you money, doctor?” Polly snorted, before shaking her head. “I don’t know. London, perhaps? That’s where the bastard usually goes where the green fairy calls.”

“I see.” Owens looked at his pocket watch and nodded to himself. “It’s for the best, I reckon.”

As soon as Polly heard the front door open and close after him, she let her shoulders drop. She took Bran’s limp hand and for the first time in forever started praying. She prayed for a long time, longer than any other time before that. When she finished, it was already dark out and the boys grew awfully quiet downstairs.

Polly left Bran’s bedside and came down to check on them. They were sleeping, poor things, curled into each other on the carpet. Arthur sat in the middle of the pile of tiny arms and legs, embracing both his brothers on two sides. The baby slept safely on the armchair, in a nest created from the only relatively clean blanket the boys could find.

Polly knelt beside them and shook Arthur’s shoulder gently.

“Arthur, wake up.”

He whined sleepily, holding his brothers closer to him. Tommy was never one to sleep through the whole night, so his huge eyes opened as soon as he felt Polly moving around them.

“What happened?” He asked, drowsy and vulnerable.

Polly felt her stomach clenching from too many feelings coming to her all at once.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” She kissed his soft cheek and wrapped her black coat around the boys.

Better let them stay where they were, she reasoned. None of them were feverish, nor did they have any visible spots. Chances were this damned sickness clung to her poor sister for lack of proper nutrition and her body being worn out after childbirth. Branwen’s labors were never easy ones, Polly doubted this one had been any different.

She went back to the kitchen and closed the window. The air didn’t seem so stuffy, but the sickly sweet stench of decay was still present. Polly rolled up her sleeves, filled a bucket with clean water and started cleaning. Just gathering the trash and all the rotten food took more than an hour. She got rid of all the mice droppings, but when she found a dead rat in one of the cupboards, she decided to take a break. And find her sister a cat, preferably two.

Polly sat in a freshly washed chair and smoked a cigarette, then another, and after went back to work. By the time she finished with the kitchen, it was two in the morning. She didn’t feel as much tired, as royally pissed off.

“Fucking men and their messes, I swear to God.” She muttered to herself, lighting her last cigarette to calm her down before going to bed.

“Pol?” Tommy asked sleepily, creeping up on her yet again.

“Jesus, Tommy!” She nearly dropped her cigarette. “What is it?”

“He had a dream.” Said Arthur, standing in the shadows behind his brothers.

Polly’s eyes softened and she beckoned them in.

“Well, come here then. Come.” She finished the cigarette and put it out in the cheap, tacky ashtray beside her.

She lifted Tommy and put him on her lap, while Arthur looked around the kitchen, absolutely stunned.

“You cleaned it,” he said quietly.

“Well, of course I did! Who else would’ve, bloody fairies?” She hugged Tommy tightly and looked at both brothers, her eyes dark and strict. “Tomorrow, you will help me with the rest of the house,” Polly decided. “Not many Aunt Pols out there in the real world, boys, nobody is going to clean your messes for you. We clear?”

They both nodded and before Arthur decided it was time they both went back to sleep, Polly asked:

“Are you going to tell me what happened with your mother?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists tightly.

“Nothing happened,” he said. “She got sick, one day.”

“And where is your father?” Polly grilled him with her best interrogative stare.

“London,” said Arthur sternly. “He said he was going to work and he’ll bring back lots and lots of money!”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Polly snorted, before looking at Tommy.

“That what happened? She just got sick?” She asked.

Tommy, less experienced with her interrogations, cracked pretty quickly:

“He hit her,” Tommy said quietly, looking at the floor.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Arthur barked warningly.

“He hit her!” Exclaimed Tommy, defiantly this time. “And he hit her, and hit her, and she had the baby! Then he ran!”

Polly pursed her lips tightly, looking from one boy to the other again.

“That true, Arthur?” She asked, her voice sharp as a razor.

Arthur couldn’t stand her glaring this time, so he focused on the same spot on the floor his brother was looking at, and just nodded.

“Jesus Christ…” Polly leaned back in the chair and shook her head.

If her bastard of a brother ever comes back, she will kick his teeth in, make a necklace and hang it at her caravan’s front door.

“Go to sleep, you two. And no more lies!” She added strictly. “Are we clear? We don’t lie to each other in this family.”

“Yes,” murmured Arthur.

“Yes, Pol,” whispered Tommy, his face bright red.

“It’s all right now.” She gave them both a kiss and hugged them tightly. “Go to sleep, you two. It’s late.”

After they scurried away from the kitchen, she took a deep breath to steady herself. That fucking monster is going to pay, this much she knew. She decided to take the boys’ bed for tonight, too tired to keep an eye on them in the living room. Besides, they were smart boys. Way too smart to be this little. Old, crooked stairs creaked softly underneath her, as she found her way upstairs without having to light any lamps. She knew this house better than anyone, that is why she left it as soon as she turned sixteen. She lived with her mother’s people now, in the outskirts of Birmingham. Many times Polly tried to persuade Bran to take her and the kids there, where they would be safe, but Bran never could believe that Arthur wouldn’t hunt her down wherever she went.

Before going to bed, Polly checked on her sister. Bran’s breathing was still weak, but the cold compresses Polly had brought her must have worked. The fever was down, if only a little bit.

Polly went back to boys’ bedroom and took her dress off. When she climbed onto the bed, one of the floorboards creaked underneath her foot, giving a very unusual, hollow sound. Polly looked down from the bed and examined the loose floorboard. She knocked on it lightly and it gave an unfamiliar, hollow sound once again. Polly hesitated for a minute, but then slowly lifted the loose piece of wood with her fingernails. She reached into a dark hole and after a minute felt what was hidden inside. She took out a small piece of dirty cloth with brownish stains. When she unwrapped it, assisted only by the moonlight coming through the bedroom window, a boning knife fell onto her lap — the thin blood-stained blade almost glistened in the dark. The knife looked sharp and agile, and judging by the worn-out pearl handle it was frequently used. It stank of decay. Some stains were darker, clearly older than others, while others looked quite fresh.

“It’s father’s hunting knife,” Tommy said behind her.

Polly nearly screamed when she dropped the knife, startled, and it pricked her left thumb. Tommy was still standing on the threshold, watching her. She put the sore thumb in her mouth, while Tommy came closer, cat-like and wary.

“I thought I told you to go to sleep,” she said curtly.

“I’m sleeping with you,” he informed her, climbing onto the bed. “Arthur snores and you don’t snore. You smell nicer, too.”

Polly frowned but put her arm around the boy, pulling him under the covers with her.

“Your father doesn’t hunt,” she said, holding the knife up and inspecting it once more.

“He says he does,” Tommy yawned and curled in a ball by her side. “Every time he leaves, he says he’s going hunting.”

“For money, though?” Polly felt her blood curdle.

“No,” Tommy looked up at her, his eyes full of suspicion. “He keeps saying he’s getting us a new mummy. I don’t want a new mum, though. I don’t want him to come back with another lady.”

Polly’s whole body stiffened, and while her little nephew finally fell asleep on that fateful night, she sat in the same spot until the crack of dawn. Squeezing the knife so tight that her hand stiffened, Polly stayed awake and kept mulling over what Tommy had said, and the more she thought about it, the less she liked the outcome.


	2. Stoketonas Shallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Valentine’s season observe one bisexual disaster and a solitary “complete fuckin sodomite” discuss horse autonomy by the lake, as two judgmental maine coons watch

# Chapter I

_Stoketonas Shallows_

 

Alfie’s shoes sank deeper and deeper in the mud, as he made his way to the campsite in the clearing. He took a short break after reaching the first caravan, rummaging in his pockets in search of pipe and matches. He liked those goddamned boots, even though he had bought them second-hand and they were probably older than that campsite.

As he lit the pipe, from the corner of his eye he noticed a child. It was glaring at him suspiciously with huge dark eyes, tugging on their striped shirt that was apparently serving as a dress. Alfie looked back at it, not even attempting to be nice. He lifted his chin, gesturing for the youngster to get lost. The kid smiled viciously, saying something in Romani, which judging by the tone was bound to be some sort of swear word.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Alfie murmured to himself and let out the smoke through his nose.

He continued through the campsite, smoking his pipe and collecting hostile looks as he went. His oversized coat billowed out behind him, which along with the broad-brimmed black hat made him look like a giant, irritated crow. Finally, he arrived at the caravan he was looking for and banged at the ornamented entrance, not bothering to be polite. It was clear that the summer has ended and autumn was coming soon, so he had no interest in standing in the cold wind any longer than absolutely necessary.

The door burst open with a violent blow.

“Fuckin’ _what?!_ ” A very angry Ada Shelby appeared in the entrance,  hastily adjusting a thick black sweater around her naked shoulders. A mane of long, rich brown curls framed her slim face, and her silver eyes shot daggers.

Alfie held her gaze, completely unaffected. He puffed his pipe like a harmless old man, though something told Ada that he might be many things, but seeing that his right hand was conveniently hidden in the deep pocket of his coat, harmless he was not.

“Miss Shelby. Is your brother around?”

“Which one?” She hissed, crossing her arms. “And what has he done this time?”

“’s a strange assumption, that. Since you don’t know which one I’m looking for.” Alfie’s expression was perfectly composed but something in his eyes glinted with amusement.

“Oh, they’ve done something, one way or another. Believe you me, whoever the fuck you are.” She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want with my brothers, then?”

“Just one.” Alfie knocked his pipe on the caravan’s railing, in order to get the rest of the tobacco out the chamber. “Someone told me, yeah, that for my particular business predicament…” He squinted his eyes, trying to see if he managed to get rid of all the fallout. “Hm. Right, so for my particular business predicament, I should look for a Thomas Shelby.” Alfie grunted, as if agreeing with a voice in his head, and put the pipe back in his pocket. Ada raised her eyebrows. God almighty, has her brother gotten himself involved with madmen, of all possible scheme partners?

“So, where would I find this particular Shelby, hmm?” Alfie stroked his beard, carefully omitting a long scar on the jaw, as if after all this years it was still painful to touch.

Ada wrapped the sweater tighter around herself, feeling like his watchful eyes could see straight into her soul. She decided there was no point in lying, especially since she doubted anyone was going to find Tommy if Tommy didn’t want to be found, anyway.

Ada pointed towards the path behind her caravan, hidden behind tall bushes. The path went deep inside the dark forest that surrounded the campsite.

“See if you manage to find him there. That’s where he goes when he needs to be alone. And he always wants to be alone, so… Good luck.” Saying that, she slammed the door in his face.

Alfie grunted again, this time visibly displeased.

“I like this family already…” Alfie murmured to himself, as he followed the path into the forest. It took him a while to get used to the overwhelming darkness, which with his limited vision was not the best thing to happen when one was trying to locate a man who didn’t want to be found.

After what seemed like hours of pointless wandering and losing his way at least three times, Alfie decided to start relying on his ears, rather than the eyes that barely functioned in the dark. He stopped in the middle of the path and listened. Then, he heard the water. Gentle splashes and increasing intensity of the wind quickly guided him out of the gloomy blackness. Moss and sticks under his muddy boots gradually turned more sandy, as finally Alfie found himself on the lake bank.

 

* * *

 

Tommy knew he wouldn’t be able to continue the solitary tent nonsense much longer. The days were getting shorter, the evenings colder, and soon a single campfire and a blanket won’t be able to keep him warm at night. However, the noisy company of his people being the alternative to the forest, Tommy seriously contemplated if another blanket couldn’t do the trick at least until the winter.

As if driven by an otherworldly premonition, his usual morning guests arrived as soon as he got around to making breakfast. Sneaky as usual, two large, furry cats appeared out of nowhere and sat by his side, eyeing his food closely.

“Mornin’, Otis.” One of the cats, black as night, received an affectionate chin scratch. The other didn’t, because Tommy knew better than to touch it. Malika, as big as her brother and equally dark, did not appreciate being pet, under any circumstances. Tommy could definitely respect that.

Both cats were madam Boswell’s faithful companions, but, not unlike her, they loved to travel and never stayed long at the noisy campsite. They knew how to find Tommy better than anyone, even when he moved his one-person camp after the summer. As sure as the sun rising in the east, every morning both cats would come for a visit, emerging noiselessly from the forest, as if they were made of darkness itself. Without so much as breaking one twig underneath their enormous paws, the cats would come and wait patiently until Tommy shared his breakfast.

Three unusual companions enjoyed their meal in silence – Tommy deep in thought, the cats fully focused on the food. Cold wind ruffled the surface of the lake, and Tommy watched its direction closely. The autumnal, chilly current came from the north, thit much was obvious. Soon, the campsite will pack up and move along with it. Like the last September and the one before it, Tommy toyed with the idea of not joining his family in their travels towards London. He never liked the capital, but that’s where the money was when the seasons changed.

Otis climbed on Tommy’s lap, breaking his trance. Large paws started kneading his thigh, looking Tommy in the eye with full intent.

“Stop being cute, eh? No more food for you, boy.” Tommy smiled to himself and gently stroked the soft, long fur. “Cats don’t sleep through the winter. You don’t need the fat.”

Malika stopped grooming her paw and eyed Tommy, obviously judging.

“Yeah, I know. Stupid people.”

As if to prove his point, a dark figure emerged from the forest, spooking the cats away. Tommy turned around but as he did not recognize the man making his way through the beach, his right hand immediately went to grab the knife in his pocket.

“Thomas Shelby?” The stranger asked with the weirdest cockney accent Tommy has ever heard.

“No.” He got up from the ground to face the stranger.

The man seemed unfazed by the blatant lie and looked Tommy up and down, as if to confirm with himself that this was indeed the Shelby brother he needed.

“I have a horse, Mr. Shelby…”

“Congratulations.” Tommy poured sand over the campfire and gathered his belongings.

The spot wasn’t any good to him, since some weird boogeyman in a funeral attire had managed to find him.

“A horse, Mr. Shelby,” the stranger continued. “And I hear horses are something you seem to be an unquestioned expert in.”

Tommy snorted as he disassembled his tent.

“A horse is not a thing,” he said coolly.

The stranger hummed to himself and watched Tommy for a while, before he spoke again:

“It’s getting too cold for camping, Mr. Shelby.”

“Whaddya care, eh?” Tommy packed his bag and the tent, destroying the rest of the campfire with his boot. “What d’ you want, hm?”

“I want to hire you, Mr. Shelby.” The man observed closely as Tommy covered up any trace of his one-man camp’s existence.

“Hire me,” he mocked. “What the hell for? Stables?”

“Shoveling around shit?” The stranger stroked his beard, as if considering this. “Nah, that’s not why I came all the way through that damned jungle, did I? I need your fucking gypsy influence over horses, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and headed towards the forest. As expected, the other man followed.

“It’s my aunt you want, then. She’s the witch, not me.”

“Not what I was told.” The stranger took out a pipe and lit it, following Tommy.

The scent of expensive, good quality tobacco reached Tommy’s nose. Surely nicer than his own cheap roll-ups… This man had money, at least that wasn’t a lie. Tommy remembered London, the noise and the stench, and stopped his hasty strut. He turned around, icy blue eyes assessing the man to the smallest detail.

“What’s with your horse, then?”


End file.
